


The Shitty Sord Effect

by archaicGambit



Series: AlphaRose-Collected Drabble/Stories [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaicGambit/pseuds/archaicGambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alpha!Dave<3Alpha!Rose's entry for MR1 of HSWC 2014.</p><p>The prompt was the Butterfly effect, so we went for something of a choose-your-own adventure thing. There are 4 endings. I'd suggest following links rather than just reading the chapters in order.</p><p>People who worked on this round included Evoninth (forgetful-and-forgettable on tumblr), Nikki myself (puppy-eater on tumblr) and Rose (chromaticcoma on tumblr) </p><p>Go check out their stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Start:

Those who have played SBURB know that any action deviating from the main timeline dooms it.

Some don’t realize actions before the game count against the timeline as well.

Some don’t realize they’ve played the game at all…

==>

Your name is Dave Strider. You are thirteen, Texan, and regret coming to this shitty-ass bookstore with your friend.

Momentarily, you are distracted by a copy of The Once and Future King. What will you do?

 

[Pick it up?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2123961/chapters/4635459)

Ditch this popsicle stand. 

This bookstore’s kinda dusty and lame anyways. Maybe you should check out the rad record shop down the street. Hopefully, they’ll have something other than Bon Jovi and Metallica. You don’t have enough ironic guy-liner for that kind of purchase.

==>


	2. Prologue choice 1

 

 

Huh. Somebody scribbled all over the book. This mysterious editor might not even be of the feminine persuasion, but damn, that writing looks frilly as shit, so you're just gonna refer to them as a her. Holy shit, who is this broad? Girl after your own heart, you’d say. The book used to belong to an RL, which is all you know, besides her incredible snark.

It looks like she's done an in-depth analysis of every line including swords in the margins and how they relate to phallic symbolism.

You're definitely getting this book.

 ==>


	3. Scene 2 Choice 1

You are Dave Motherfucking Strider, and man, the crowd just can’t get enough of you; they’re like the groping tentacles of some alien and you are the weak protesting japanese schoolgirl, and fuck, someone just jostled your pen-

Upwards [==>](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2123961/chapters/4649967)

Downwards: Your pen skids along the page you were signing and haha, that definitely looks like a penis. You hand the book back to the kid as it is and he holds it up like a prize. If you know the SBAHJ BROS at all, they’ll be all over this genuine Strider-drawn schlong-dong, and that’ll occupy them for a while. As most of your fans switch target and invade the kid’s breathing space, you realize it’s time. You should be getting inside to receive your award for the SBAHJ anthology. A prize-winning man has no time for this bullshit.

  
==>


	4. Scene 2 Choice 2

Your pen goes flying out of your hand and into some dude’s beer bucket. Well fuck. Judging by the SBAHJ BROS shirt, and the shriek of delight, you’re definitely not getting that back anytime soon. Now you’re without a pen and the crowd’s getting antsy. If you were anyone else, you’d probably give yourself up to the masses, lie back, and think of Texas, but Dave Strider doesn’t take butt-ravaging easily, oh no, and woah- new pen in your face. You snatch it, & try to get a look at your unexpected hero, but due to the onslaught of fans you only manage to glimpse a lilac dress contouring a nice ass. You sign enough books to give you an early-onset carpal tunnel before managing to shove past the hordes and excuse yourself inside. ⇒

These lit awards don’t have half as many babes as the hollywood shindigs you usually attend. You don’t know anyone, and most of the crowd seems twice your age. Luckily, that'll just make it easier to find your bangin' bootied hero- oh shit, there she is. Hot damn.If you go and talk to her, you’ll probably revert from CoolGuyWithABlogTM to your awkward teenage self, but the risk seems worth taking.

You are now Rose Lalonde. You are learning to cope with these kinds of galas, with your recent break into stardom, but earlier this evening you attempted to contact a man you consider to be a potential ally. Something about the humor of his films (under the cheap misogyny and garish palette) spoke to you. Dave Strider sits at the barstool next to you- there is little expression behind his shades, mouth pursed as he tries to position his gangly limbs suavely. He shifts several times before giving up, facing the counter. You glance at him, and return to your empty cup of water, hiding a small grin.

He slides your pen in your direction. “This yours?” He’s surprisingly mumbly, and makes an involuntary squeaky noise when you turn around to face him with arched brows and a smirk. You’re surprised to find it endearing.

“Keep it.” You open your sylladex, “I have more in here, see? There’s no shame in accepting magnanimity, Mr. Strider.” His shoulders jerk. You realize you’ve insulted him, and he’s probably confused as to how you know his name. Fumbling, you hurriedly interject, “You’re very recognizable.”

The amendment calms him, and the two of you are silent- it’s unspeakably awkward, and you’re about to say something, anything, before he beats you to the punch. “If I buy you a drink, will you tell me your name?”

“Rose Lalonde. I don’t drink.” You only drink to embrace the void, and you shan’t be doing that tonight. He seems surprised for a moment, but he’s difficult to read behind those shades- they obscure about a third of his face.

“Lies. You’re holding a goddamn drink.”

“Are you quite sure? This glass seems rather empty to me.” You peer into its depths and shake your head melodramatically. You feel oddly in harmony exchanging verbal artillery with this veritable stranger.

“Gimme like 5 minutes and I will be. Hey, bartender. 2 AJs if you’ve got ‘em.” You smile. For now, you’ll just enjoy it.

 

==>


End file.
